Dalton, Tymber - Monkey Wrench [Drunk Monkeys 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Tymber Dalton

  And if this was some sort of gang activity, she damn sure didn’t want to be mixed up in it as a witness.

  He jumped up and ran out the office door.

  Stacia took that as her cue. She grabbed her bags of groceries, made sure she hadn’t dropped anything, warily poked her head out of the doorway, and ran for the large opening now surrounding the front doors. All the glass in the large window had shattered and fallen.

  By the time she reached the parking lot and broke off at a dead run toward their apartment building, suit guy, homeless guy, and the guy she’d noticed earlier on the other corner were all gone. No one appeared to be shot, but several women, in addition to the two who’d been in the office, had hunkered down behind parked cars and were screaming.

  That kicked Stacia’s legs into overdrive. Despite the way her lungs burned, she didn’t stop running until she reached the park next door to their building, and even then she kept up a fast trot until she entered the building’s lobby.

  She didn’t bother waiting for the elevator and ran up the two flights of stairs to the second floor.

  Her hand trembled so badly it took her three tries to enter her lock code for the apartment door, but she finally got it opened, rushing through and then slamming the door shut behind her, throwing the deadbolt.

  She wouldn’t swear to it, but she felt like at least some of the way home she’d been followed.

  Shake it off. You’re just freaked out.

  Hoping that was all it was, she headed toward the kitchen to put the groceries away and get the chicken cooking.

  As she did, she thought about the strange man, the one who definitely didn’t belong in a suit. As she’d huddled next to him through the gunfire, she’d felt the lean, strong muscles hidden under his suit.

  And the warning he gave her before he left chilled her. He must have heard her give the girl at the desk her and Marvin’s names.

  Dammit!

  She wasn’t about to go back there today. Hopefully she could catch up with Marvin and talk him out of whatever he was doing. But it’d have to happen once the excitement at the church had died down a little.

  Hopefully, that wouldn’t be too late for her to talk to Marvin again.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What the fuck happened?” Omega asked when he picked them up.

  “Drive,” Lima ordered, hoping he hadn’t screwed up by letting the woman go.

  “You going to explain now, or explain later?” Quack asked from the truck’s backseat, where he now sat with Echo.

  “There was a complication. I needed a distraction.”

  “What complication?” Omega asked.

  “That woman, right?” Quack said as a statement more than a question.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who?” Omega asked.

  “The woman with the groceries,” Quack said.

  “Her brother’s in the program,” Lima explained. “Her name’s Stacia. Her brother’s name is Marvin Rooney. I heard her talking to the receptionist in the office when I went in, but I couldn’t wait any longer. The other women were coming back from the sandwich shop.” They’d left earlier than they had the day before, meaning they’d returned sooner, which had messed with their logistics.

  “I take it she’s not happy about her brother being in the program?” Omega asked. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have risked a civvie seeing you.”

  “She did not seem happy about it, no.”

  In fact, the woman had looked and sounded really pissed off about it.

  She was also cute, but that was irrelevant.

  Lima pulled out his tablet from its hiding place under the seat and grabbed a sat-link connection. Before they returned to the safe house, he’d already sent Bubba a message asking for a background check on the siblings.

  When they returned to the safe house, Papa was waiting for them upstairs, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. “Well?”

  Since it was his operation, Lima got to do the honors of telling him the story. While their commander wasn’t happy about resorting to shooting or involving a civvie, he had news of his own.

  A grin crossed his face. “Bubba just sent word that you struck gold, buddy. The good news is, he got into the system and pulled a full data dump. They haven’t shut him out as of when he messaged me a little while ago, so he might be able to set up a stealth monitor in their system.”

  “What’s the bad news?”

  “That facility, whatever it is, isn’t attached to any other network run by the church. It’s a very basic, self-contained network. He hasn’t yet found any way to access the larger church system through it.”

  “Shit.”

  “No, don’t be like that. You guys did good. Now we just have to wait and see if it bears fruit.”

  * * * *

  Later that afternoon, Bubba got back to Lima.

  I’m still sorting through the server data because a lot of it is encrypted. I haven’t been locked out of it yet, but meanwhile, I got that other info for you.

  What followed was background data on Stacia and Marvin Rooney. Stacia was twenty-three and currently employed by a local brewery, according to IRS records. Her older brother, Marvin, was twenty-five and apparently unemployed. However, he was showing up in the facility’s database, his status listed as “in training,” whatever that meant.

  They’d both had the same address for approximately twenty years, listed under the name of Darla Englebury, who seemed to be their aunt. They lived in an apartment in a building only a few blocks from the church facility. Both their parents were deceased.

  More interesting, the brother had served in the military for only two weeks when he was eighteen, and had received an honorable discharge for undisclosed health reasons.

  Mental health reasons. The listed reason was “unsuitable for standard service” but they didn’t expound upon that and provide an official diagnosis, which Lima found odd. The military was usually extremely specific on DX forms…except when they deliberately chose not to be.

  Bubba had also included copies of the siblings’ California state IDs. It didn’t look like either of them had a driver’s license or owned a car.

  Lima sent him a reply.

  Any chance of finding out exactly what that DX cause means?

  Bubba replied moments later.

  Already have the request in. Will let you know what I find out. You think that angle might be your in?

  Lima considered it, thinking about the woman he’d seen in the church office. The official state ID pic didn’t do her justice at all. Around five five, she had shoulder-length brown hair, and brown eyes that appeared both watchful and wary while studying him in the church office. She had a body built like she was in shape. Not like some rich people were, because they had time to exercise, but like someone used to doing manual labor for a living. Real curves over svelte, lean muscles. Her jeans and plain blue T-shirt hadn’t been new, but they’d been clean. Her fingernails had been blunt and unpainted.

  She was definitely the kind of woman who, under other circumstances, he would have pursued. He hated vapid, showy women. He wanted a woman who wasn’t fragile, who could stand on her own.

  In fact, thinking about her now, without an operation at stake, had made his cock hard.

  Lima replied to Bubba.

  I don’t know. Maybe. It depends on what you tell us about that place.

  Bubba replied a few minutes later.

  Roger. Tell the PTB that I hope to have at least some info forthcoming today. Decryption is a bitch and a half on these files. And FYI it doesn’t look like they’re running outside feeds or file saves on those cameras yet. I found where the cameras are dumping the feeds, but apparently they rushed the whole job and didn’t verify it past looking at the video feed on a monitor. The error codes for the feeds not saving are dumping into their own log file that it looks like no one’s accessed since the facility was set up four months ago. Shoddy work. I disabled the error messages, so they�
��re still blind. Doesn’t mean someone, somewhere, isn’t looking at video screens where those cameras are pointed, but for now they aren’t recording or being shipped off-site. Just keep that in mind.

  Lima breathed a sigh of relief.

  Thanks, I appreciate the heads-up.

  Lima shut down the sat-link connection and closed the lid of his laptop. That had been a sheer stroke of luck about the surveillance cameras.

  He got up to go find Papa and give him the latest update. Maybe the brother was exactly the internal access point they needed. Perhaps they could use his sister to get to him and find out what was going on in that facility.

  He’d keep all his options open.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Major General George Macaletto stood at attention in front of four-star General Joseph Arliss’ desk and prayed he didn’t nervous-sweat right through his undershirt.

  Arliss had turned his hard grey gaze on Macaletto and was studying him like a lion preparing to take down a baby zebra.

  At least, that was the way Macaletto felt.

  “So how long as this man been missing?” Arliss asked.

  “He didn’t report for work after his requested time off, sir. It’s been over a week.”

  “And I’m just hearing about this now…why?”

  “Sir, I didn’t realize this was something you’d personally—”

  “Since when have I not personally been interested in the whereabouts and welfare of the people who serve directly under me in my command?”

  Macaletto resisted the urge to nervously swallow. He was already off-balance from the general ordering him into his office first thing that morning and then ordering him to stand at attention like a damned private.

  “Sir, I thought since he reported directly to me that—”

  “You thought wrong, soldier. I should not have found out about this through a weekly personnel report. I should have been notified the day he turned up missing. Has anyone been sent to his residence to check on him?”

  “Yes, sir. I went myself and—”

  “Did you enter the residence?”

  Considering he’d lied about going in the first place, he knew he’d need to remember his story later. He didn’t know exactly where Colonel Afton Gregor was at that particular moment in time, but he strongly suspected Gregor was somewhere in the vicinity of Mexico City, and that the colonel’s health status was now, unofficially at least, deceased.

  “Uh, no, sir—”

  “Do it. Call MPs, call local authorities. I want someone to enter his residence and make sure he’s not lying dead on his bathroom floor. And I want an immediate report from you when you do it.”

  “Uh, yes, sir.”

  “Then if he’s not there, I want you to file a missing persons report on him, copies on my desk no later than four o’clock this afternoon. And I want investigators looking at his bank and credit card records, travel records, e-mail, everything. Understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Macaletto turned to head for the door when the general called after him. “And when I said do it, I mean it is your next action, and nothing else will get done, including you taking a piss, until that man’s residence is searched. Understand me?”

  He turned to look at the general. The older man was still watching him with that predatory look.

  I hope Silo eats him alive in the new world order. “Yes, sir. Understood.”

  He hurried back to his office, mentally swearing the entire way.

  Fucking asshole.

  Figured that this would be the one damn time the general would actually pay attention to the stupid weekly personnel reports. At least Gregor had the decency to get himself killed on Mexican soil, not in the US. It would slow down the investigation, perhaps even stall it.

  He hoped.

  * * * *

  Four-star general Joseph Arliss leaned back in his chair as George Macaletto practically ran from his office.

  Shit.

  At one time, George had been one of his most trusted subordinates. He never would have suspected him of treason.

  But Bubba had e-mailed him the pics and video forwarded to him by SOTIF1 and their interrogation of Gregor in Mexico City.

  Colonel Afton Gregor had been sent by Macaletto to try to locate the Drunk Monkeys.

  Arliss strongly suspected a mole in his food chain after the incident in Australia. He’d heard from one of his intelligence contacts in the Ukraine that a mercenary team had been contracted to go to Australia only hours after Arliss had diverted the Drunk Monkeys there.

  And there had been only four people in his food chain who’d known about those orders. One being himself, and one being Papa, head of the team.

  Macaletto had been one of the other two.

  The last had been his driver, who’d heard him discussing it on the phone. And while Arliss didn’t suspect his driver was a mole, he already had Bubba looking into the man’s finances and personal activity just to make sure.

  Then, when Papa had smartly chummed some bogus info into the echo chamber, somehow, the info beelined right into a different hive, and another SOTIF team had been deployed after their commander consulted with Arliss.

  Of course he’d approved it. He knew they wouldn’t locate his Drunk Monkeys. And to not approve it would have tipped his own hand that he’d given them an OTG order.

  Now what Arliss didn’t know was the identity Macaletto’s handler. Bubba had his theories, and Arliss trusted the man, but he needed proof before he took out a two-star, even one under his own command. He needed to find out how deeply his own hive was compromised before taking action. Whether or not it involved other hives, as they called the SOTIF team command structures, or just the man in his own food chain.

  Arliss also commanded SOTIF9 and SOTIF10, but he’d been careful not to reveal that to anyone except the officer he’d hand-picked to publicly lead those two units. As the program’s creator and official overseer, Arliss had made sure to carefully lay out a failsafe system in case he’d ever needed it.

  It looked like he might need it.

  His greatest fear over the years was a president and congress bought and paid for by special interests, and a low-income population too busy trying to survive to care about the political process. He’d wanted the ability to work silently if needed, in the background, to take out any private interests that grew too powerful.

  It wasn’t much of a stretch to see how many of the foreign terror organizations had gotten their start. He didn’t want a small but powerful group of private interests, commercial or religious, gaining too much power and usurping the Constitution.

  He still gave a damn about that piece of paper, even if politicians and the big banking consortiums wanted to do nothing more than wipe their asses with it.

  He’d already had three bankers, two in Europe and one in Saudi, taken out when intelligence had shown they were funneling money directly to several large-scale jihadi organizations.

  He wouldn’t hesitate to do it to Americans, either.

  Now, if Bubba’s hunch proved correct, Arliss might have to do just that. If evidence proved beyond a doubt that Hannibal Silo was behind some scheme to spread Kite or to take control of a Kite vaccine and hold it hostage, Arliss would send a team in without hesitation to take the man out.

  Right now, he was more interested in shutting down this info leak in his organization and rooting out how many more there might be besides Macaletto. He had to do it on the back end, because to start an official inquiry would mean outing the Drunk Monkeys and the classified fact that they were protecting two of the scientists.

  Arliss knew it wouldn’t be easy, considering Macaletto had an intelligence background, but what Macaletto wasn’t counting on was how far Arliss’ own secret web stretched across the world.

  Arliss wiped all evidence of the photos and videos from his personal tablet and the e-mail account, dumping and deleting the disposable e-mail account b
efore doing a factory reset on his tablet.

  Let the game of cat and monkey begin.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hannibal Silo smiled across the table at his wife the next morning. “And there’s my lovely bride. How are you feeling today, dear?”

  The housekeeper was preparing Mary’s breakfast. He stifled his internal giggles at the way Mary wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Silo,” the housekeeper said. “Today is your hair appointment.”

  Hannibal wondered how Mary would enjoy sitting for a couple of hours on that well-fucked ass. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. “Here, sweetheart,” he said, handing her a couple of hundred dollars. “Why don’t you have Elise take you shopping after your appointment? If you feel up to it, of course.”

  She took the money, eyeing him warily.

  Oh, he didn’t care about giving her money or what she spent it on. She never asked for money. She refused to. It was, he supposed, one small way she thought she exerted a little control over her own life.

  He chose to allow her that illusion.

  The hairdresser had their information on file and billed him for Mary’s appointments. It was the same salon he used, so he always settled up with a credit card when he went.

  Giving Mary cash was his silent way of telling her he didn’t consider her anything more than his property, a commodity.

  A whore to be paid off.

  And she damn well knew it.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “But of course. And if you want more, let me know.” He stood and walked around the table, kissing her on the top of her head, more for the housekeeper’s benefit than Mary’s. “Have a good day, dear.”

  He left the kitchen, heading for the front door. His driver was already waiting outside.

  He didn’t worry about the housekeepers like he did the nurses. The housekeeper was only there for two hours every morning. She cooked breakfast and tidied up, and reminded the day nurse of any appointments for Mary that showed up in the daily calendar. She didn’t actually take care of Mary like the nurses did. That was why he only rotated them out every year, instead of every few months, like the nurses.